I Love LA, Sort Of
by Rachel D
Summary: Sam leaps into a Laker Girl, and has to keep one of his fellow cheerleaders from getting murdered. COMPLETED!
1. Chapter 1

_**I LOVE L.A., SORT OF**_

A/N: Sam leaps into a Laker Girl in the late '80s, and his mission is to keep one his fellow teammates from getting murdered.

 **CHAPTER 1**

 _"Theorizing that one could time-travel within his own lifetime, Dr, Sam Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator—and vanished. He awoke to find himself trapped in the past, facing mirror images that were not his own, and driven by an unknown force to change history for the better. His only guide on this journey is Al, who appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear. And so, Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong, and hoping each time that his next leap would be the leap home."_

 **September 1, 1988**

 _Okay, what now?_ Sam wondered as the blue hazy light surrounded him. He'd just finished being a hypnotherapist in the Pittsburgh area in '76, and not only did he have to keep his family from getting killed after his oldest daughter witnessed her best friend's murder, but he also had a brief encounter with Mr. Fred Rogers. Anyway, thanks to Sam putting the young girl under hypnosis, and hopefully not costing the guy his job for ethics reasons, she was able to tell him everything she knew, and bring the person responsible—in this case, the cousin of her friend's boyfriend—to justice.

When the light faded, Sam found himself surrounded by buxom, drop-dead gorgeous, half-dressed girls. His first thought was that he was at the Playboy mansion, which is just the sort of place that Al Calavicci, the project observer, would consider heaven on earth. And if Sam knew Al, he'd most likely spend a large majority of the time wishing he wasn't a hologram so he could get laid.

But that couldn't be it. For one thing, they were all dressed in skimpy, shiny, skin-tight gold-and-purple uniforms.

Sam very quickly looked down to hide how embarrassed he was by where—or who—he was. To his horror, he was wearing the same outfit as the other girls.

"Hey, hurry up, April! Practice starts in five minutes!" one of the girls called as she hurried past. She had short spiky red hair with strawberry-blond highlights, dark brown eyes, and a few freckles across her nose.

 _April?_ Sam thought as he turned to the nearby mirror. Staring back at him was a young twenty-something girl with dark blue eyes and chestnut-brown hair in a ponytail. "Ohh, boy," he moaned in dismay. "I'm a cheerleader."

Yes, folks, Sam was a cheerleader. A Laker Girl, to be exact, which explained the uniform's colors.

 _Shit!_ Sam thought in a mix of disgust and chagrin. _Al's going to have the time of his life when he sees this!_

"I, uh—I'll be right there," Sam said. The girl nodded and left.

Just then, he heard a portal door opening behind him and a wolf-whistle. He spun around to see Al stepping out, wearing a white dress shirt, black jeans, a black sequined tux jacket with tails and red lapels, and mismatched rhinestone-bedecked Chuck Taylors: a red low-top on his right foot and a black high-top on his left foot.

"Whoa- _ho,_ looking _good,_ sexy mama!" Al teased as he took a puff on his cigar. "Talk about team spirit!"

"Al..."

"I tell you, Randy Newman clearly had the Laker Girls in mind when he wrote 'I Love L.A.' And even though I'm a Warriors fan, I can see why."

 _"Al,"_ Sam repeated impatiently.

"Okay," Al said, pulling himself together and punching a few buttons on the hand-link. "You are April Hathaway, twenty-one, and as you may have guessed, you're a Laker Girl. That redheaded knockout you were just talking to is her teammate, Paula Porter. According to Ziggy, they were cheerleaders and sorority sisters at UCLA—Alpha Chi Omega, to be exact. Just to months after grad..."

After shaking and smacking the handlink, Al continued, "...uh, graduation, right, they tried out for the Laker Girls, and well, here you are. You know, I envy you, Sam."

"Sure, you do," Sam muttered sarcastically. He hated it whenever he leaped into a woman—and a gorgeous one at that—mostly because he had to put up with Al's horndog bullshit. He also never forgot the first time he did so, not to mention dealing with this real slimebag of a boss. "Okay, now that you've gotten that out of your system, why am I here?"

Al gave the handlink another shake before looking at it. "Oh, no," he groaned. "Ziggy says Paula gets murdered in three days."

"Oh, boy."

"'Oh, boy', is right. But the worst part is, according to the original history, her body isn't found for six months."

"Did the cops ever find out who did it?"

"Uh-uh."

"So basically, I have to stop it from happening, right?"

"Basically. Oh, and keep shaking your pom-poms while you're at it, too."

"You know, if you weren't a hologram, I'd slug you," Sam snapped as he grabbed the pom-poms off the bench.

"I'll see if I can get any more information out of Ziggy, and get right back to you," Al grinned wickedly. "Now, go get 'em, tiger."

"You do that," Sam answered, just wanting to get this over with. With that, Al nodded, pressed the portal door button on the handlink, and was gone.

It wasn't that Sam had anything against cheerleaders. Far from it. In fact, he recalled countless hours of watching them strut their stuff at school pep rallies and his brother's football and basketball games, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy every min-ute of it. But as for actually being one—well, let's just say that was one story he wasn't go-ing to tell his grandchildren.

Meanwhile, in the Project Waiting Room, the real April was just waking up. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the Waiting Room's neon blue walls, and she found herself on a stainless steel examining table. When she looked down at herself, she saw that she was wearing a white turtleneck and pants with a matching jacket and shoes. "What the hell...?" she murmured. She started to sit up, but a wave of dizziness came over her, and she grabbed the side of the table to steady herself. When she looked in a nearby mirror and saw Sam's image, she let out a blood-curdling scream and jumped off the table as Dr. Beeks and Tina, Al's current girlfriend, rushed into the room.

"Shh, it's okay, honey," Dr. Beeks tried to reassure her, but April was in too much of a state of shock to listen. She even tried to take a swing at the doctor. Fortunately, she miss-ed by a mile.

"Who the hell are you people?" April demanded as Dr. Beeks grabbed hold of her. "Where am I? Where's Paula? Where's L.A.?"

"It's all right, we're not going to hurt you, April," Tina jumped in. "We're here to help you. You're in a top-secret facility in New Mexico, and it's 3:22 a.m. on March 7, 2016."

"Two— _2016?"_ April gasped. "Are you saying I'm in the future?"

"Yes," Tina answered. "I know this sounds crazy, but this is the future."

Almost immediately, April stopped struggling and relaxed in Dr. Beeks' arms. "Holy shit," she whispered as she was guided back toward the table. "I, uh—I don't suppose we have flying cars or personal robot servants, do we?"

"I'm afraid not."

"See, my godson is a _Jetsons_ freak," April explained as she sat back down on the table. "He's my cousin's little boy, he just turned five last week, and he drives his folks crazy by talking about how the future's going to look like it does on TV."

"I know a lot of people felt that way, and were disappointed when it didn't happen," Tina agreed.

"Are you sure I haven't been abducted by aliens?"

Tina and Dr. Beeks looked at each other and laughed gently. "No, we're Earthlings, just like you," Dr. Beeks answered.

"Oh- _kayyy,"_ April said with more than a hint of skepticism in her voice. "So, what's the deal here?"

"You've switched places in time with a physicist named Dr. Sam Beckett," Dr. Beeks explained. "In the early '90s, Dr. Beckett wanted to prove that time-travel existed, so he built his own accelerator. But before all the kinks could be worked out, he stepped into the machine and vanished. Since 1995, he's been bouncing around in time, into the lives of several people, to set things right that once went wrong."

"Kind of like the Lone Ranger?"

"Uh-huh. And Admiral Calavicci—who you'll meet soon—is kind of like his Tonto. Whenever Dr. Beckett leaps into another person's life, the Admiral tells him who he is, and what wrong he's supposed to right." Then, lowering her voice, she added, "The Admiral and Dr. Beckett would fire my ass if they found out I told you, but I guess what they don't know won't hurt them. They may even have to figure out who'd get to wring my neck."

April nodded. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," she assured the women. "I doubt if anyone would believe me if I told them, anyway."

Just then, Al came in. "How's our visitor?" he asked.

"Well, now that she's over the initial shock, she seems okay," Verbeena answered. "April, this is Admiral Al Calavicci, the man I was just telling you about."

"Hi," April said, tightening her ponytail before shaking his hand.

"Hi, April," Al smiled. "How are you holding up?"

"Well, I'm a little disappointed that 2016 looks nothing like it does in the movies, but other than that, I think I'm okay," she admitted.

"That's good to know. I guess you're probably wondering why you're here."

Upon hearing those words, April thought of what Dr. Beeks had said about Al firing her for spilling the beans. She glanced at the doctor and saw the look on her face, which clearly said, _Don't tell him anything._

"Well, the thought had crossed my mind," she said, covering for Verbeena.

As Al explained everything to April, a million thoughts went through her head. As fascinated as she was with the project and all the technology surrounding her (remember, she _was_ from 1988), she was also glad that someone cared enough about her to try to save her best friend and change the course of history. Until now, she never believed there was such a thing.

And here it was, happening right before her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

"Now April, I know this is the last thing you want to talk about," Al said patiently, "but I really need to know what happened on the night of September 4, 1988, so I can pass the information on to Dr. Beckett."

"Well," April began as she lowered her head. "Paula and I were coming out of the diner around the corner from our apartment when we felt someone grab us and put chloroform rags over our faces. When I woke up, we were in the back of a white van heading toward the beach."

"Do you remember anything else?" Al asked as he fed the information into the handlink.

April took a few deep breaths. It was obvious to everyone that the whole horrible ordeal still haunted her. "It was already dark by then," she answered, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I sat up and found my hands duct-taped behind my back. My clothes were gone, too, and so was Paula. The back door was open a crack, so I very quickly and quietly slipped out, not knowing if the guy who'd grabbed us was still out there. I could hear the waves crashing against the rocks, so I knew we were at the beach. When I made it outside, I saw a little piece of metal sticking out from under the driver's side taillight. I put the tape against the metal and started moving my wrists up and down until I cut it loose. I looked around for somebody, anybody, and right where the sand met the road was a shoe print. I knew he was wearing L.A. Gears, because I know that print when I see it. When I looked up, I—I saw a big dark figure coming from behind the rocks. He must have been a head taller than me, and well over three hundred pounds. I still can't believe that such a fatass could move that fast. Anyway, that's when I ran like hell."

"Did you fall while running?"

April very quickly shook her head as tears formed in her eyes.

"And Paula?"

"He—he killed her. Or at least I think he did," April managed to whisper. "I always had a feeling that the son of a bitch killed her. And I knew I should've gone to the cops right away, but I was afraid he'd come back and finish the job." And that's when the knot in her throat burst. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Paula!" she sobbed. "I'm so sorry! God forgive me!"

"Oh, honey," Tina said soothingly as she put her arms around the girl. April laid her head on Tina's shoulder and continued crying.

"I'll be right back," Al said softly as he handed April his handkerchief. "I just need to check in with Sam, but I may have more questions for you later." And with that, he left the room and returned to the Imaging Chamber.

When Al stepped through the portal door, he found Sam out on the floor, trying to keep up with the other girls, but not surprisingly, he was more than a few steps behind. If you ever saw those girls in action, you'd be amazed by their flexibility, pep, and synchronization, not to mention fantasizing about spending a night in the sack with one or more of them.

Well, Sam was trying to have pep, and he does have an astronomical IQ, but he's not what you'd call coordinated. In fact, he almost smacked one of the other girls in the face with a pom-pom. "Watch it, you dumb bimbo!" she snarled, then started cursing a blue streak in German.

"Sorry," Sam whispered. Never in his whole life did he wish he was somewhere else than he did just then. On the upside, none of the other girls kicked him in the nuts, accidentally or otherwise.

Al was standing off to the side and saw the whole thing. _Damn,_ he thought with a cringe. _That girl would definitely get along just fine with my second wife. Maybe they could shot-put with small appliances._

After practice had wrapped up, Al caught up with Sam in the alley. "What'd you find out?" Sam asked.

"Well," Al began, "April told me that on the night of September 4, she and Paula were leaving their favorite diner when they felt someone from behind knock them out with chloroform." As Al repeated what April had said, Sam's eyes got bigger and bigger.

"So, what's the plan?" Sam asked as Al finished.

"Well, you let that bastard kidnap you, and when you come around, you use your karate skills and do what needs to be done. I've long since lost count of how many times you've done that."

"Okay."

"By the way, April says the guy who grabbed them looked like Brian Wilson at his worst, so he shouldn't give you any trouble."

A minute or so later, Paula caught up with them. "Is everything okay, April?" she asked. "I noticed you were having a little trouble with the routine."

"Yeah, I think so," Sam answered. "I just have a lot on my mind right now."

"Don't tell her what I told you," Al whispered urgently. "Ask her if she wants to go get a burger or something."

"I know just the thing to help you get your mind off things," Paula smiled. "Let's go get a burger or something."

"Okay," Sam nodded. "I am a little hungry. What'd you have in mind?"

"How's Rax sound?" Paula suggested. "Granted, it's a little farther than the diner we usually go to, but I have been dying for a Seafood Fiesta Salad."

Upon hearing that, Al looked around quizzically. "I wonder if this means Laker Girls can see and hear me?" he said to himself. And you didn't have to be an Ivy League valedictorian to know that he really hoped that was the case. "I'll have to ask Gooshie when I get a chance."

"Okay, sounds great," Sam agreed. He was a little hungry, too. In the back of his mind, however, he was going crazy with relief that Paula had suggested somewhere other than the diner. And if lady luck stayed on their side, they'd be all right.

But then, he was remembering something his Great-Uncle Owen had told him when he was nine: "Don't count on Lady Luck, 'cause she's no lady."

The sun was already setting by the time Sam and Paula arrived at Rax. They'd just finished their dinner—a Seafood Fiesta salad for Paula, a Philly and onion rings for Sam, and medium Cokes for both—and were in the middle of a rousing game of Double Dragon. Every so often, Sam would glance over his shoulder, which he normally did when doing something that required a lot of concentration. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, just the usual hustle and bustle of food being cooked, cashiers ringing up orders, and customers chowing down.

But even though everything seemed okay, Sam couldn't shake that gut-feeling that something was bound to go wrong.

All the while, Al was standing in the middle of it all. "Ohh, what I wouldn't give for a roast beef combo right about now," he moaned. Just because he was a hologram didn't mean he wasn't famished. "I'm just glad I can't smell all that food."

Upon saying that, Al remembered the time that Sam had leaped into the bounty hunter, and how he and the woman he was with—who turned out to be the guy's ex-wife—had taken that fall into the manure pile. Between that, and trying to help Sam out of that ocean liner's trash compactor, he didn't know which was worse.

And that's when he saw a grossly overweight man sitting by the back door, which made him remember his conversation with April about the shadowy figure she'd seen when making her escape, not to mention the shoeprint in the sand. Al looked down at the guy's shoes—mostly because he didn't want to look at his ugly face anymore—and sure enough, they were L.A. Gears.

Immediately, Al knew that was the guy. He pressed the side button on the handlink and teleported himself back to Sam.

"Sam!" he shouted. "Sam!"

"What's wrong, Al?" Sam asked in annoyance.

"Sam, creepy tub of lard at 5 o'clock! And he's wearing L.A. Gears! That's the only thing about him that doesn't make me want to toss my roast beef combo! Well, that's what I'd be eating if I wasn't a hologram!"

Sam glanced over his shoulder and saw where Al was frantically pointing. "Oh, shit," he groaned.

"I couldn't have said it any better myself," Al agreed. "Listen, Sam, you and Paula need to get out of here right now."

"Good idea. I was never good at this game, anyway."

Al looked at the guy again. There was no mistaking the look on his face, and he knew that look anywhere. It was the look that made young girls everywhere do the 50-yard dash in record time. "Hurry up!" he whispered through clenched teeth. "Boy, if I wasn't a hologram, I'd punch that creepo's teeth down his throat."

"Say, Paula," Sam said, trying to stay calm, "it's starting to get late, and the streets aren't exactly friendly at this hour, so why don't we go home now?"

"Okay," Paula agreed. "I can never get past this part of level three, anyway."

 _"Yes!"_ Al whispered with relief. "Gooshie, which car did they come in?...A blue VW, huh? If I remember right, Sharon had a yellow one. And what a clunker it was, too." With another press of the side button, Al was gone in a flash.

"Now, stay close to me," Sam instructed as they started toward the door. "If there are any muggers out there, we'd have them outnumbered."

Nodding, Paula grabbed Sam's arm and they made their way outside and across the parking lot to Paula's pale blue VW, which had a grinning Al in the backseat.

 _"Hea-ve-en, I'm in hea-ve-en,"_ he was softly and happily singing.

 _Oh, brother,_ Sam thought. Oh, well, at least he wasn't dancing with a rubber chicken while he was singing.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Sam knew they'd dodged a major bullet by leaving when they did, but their abduction and Paula's murder were still three days away. That meant Sam still had time to find a way to prevent that from taking place.

But would that be enough?

"Say, April," Paula said as they pulled out onto the street, "what made you want to get out of there so fast, anyway?"

Sam thought fast. "Well, for one, I want to get a good night's sleep so I can be up early for practice tomorrow," he lied. Granted, it wasn't very believable, but it was all he could think of to say.

"That, and the poor man's Jabba the Hutt was practically having a tug-of-war with Cyclops while he was ogling you," Al whispered.

Paula thought for a minute as they stopped at a red light. "Makes sense," she decided. "Now that you mention it, maybe some sleep would help you stay focused. I mean, I've never seen you having trouble learning a routine since I've known you. Usually, if you hear it only once, you get it on the first try. Not that I'm jealous of you, or anything like that."

"No, but I sure am," Al muttered.

A few minutes later, they were turning a corner and were less than a quarter-mile from home when the engine started sputtering. "Son of a _bitch!"_ Paula yelled as the car slowly idled to a stop. "This is the third time this month I've had trouble with this heap!"

"Yup, that's VW's for you," Al remarked.

Sam looked at the dashboard, and sure enough, the transmission light was on. "Just the thing to top off a perfect evening," he grumbled.

No sooner had Paula gotten out of the car and headed toward the phone did the handlink start flashing and squealing like crazy. "What the hell is...?" Sam started to ex-claim.

"What is it now, Ziggy?" Al asked as he shook the handlink. Only then did he realize the danger that was just around the corner, both literally and figuratively. "Oh, God. Oh, God, this is not good, Sam. This is not good at all."

Sam looked out the window to see what the trouble was, but there was too much traffic. When he got out of the car, he saw a big white van parking right behind them. And climbing out of the driver's side, with mustard and grease stains all over his shirt, was the guy who'd been watching them at Rax.

"You girls need some help?" he asked, in the most cordial, polite voice you'd ever heard in your life. But just because he came across as perfectly normal, Sam wasn't fooled for a second.

Right then and there, Sam knew that those three days he thought he and Paula had were now gone.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This is the last chapter.

 **CHAPTER 3**

The first thing Sam felt upon regaining consciousness was his head pounding and the turbulence. _What the hell?_ he thought in alarm. _Where am I? Are we having an earthquake or something?_ When he opened his eyes, all he saw was blackness. That, combined with the shaking, told him that he was in the back of a van. When he tried to sit up, he felt his hands duct-taped behind his back, and that's when the realization of where he was hit him like a thunderbolt.

"Al!" he whispered frantically, so their abductor wouldn't hear him. "Al, where are you?"

In no time flat, Al appeared beside him. "You okay, Sam?" he asked.

"I will be, as soon as I get out of this," Sam answered, fighting the panic in his voice. "Where's Paula?"

"Over there," Al answered, gesturing off to the side with his cigar. Sam looked, and saw Paula lying unconscious against the driver's side wall, duct-tape over her mouth, and hands also behind her back.

"How long until we arrive at the beach?" Sam asked.

"Let's see," Al said as he consulted the handlink. "According to Ziggy, you've been on the move for seventeen minutes, and it'll be another eight before we arrive at the beach. Make that seven and a half."

"So, what do I do now?"

"There's a little piece of metal sticking out of the spot on the wall beside you," Al instructed. "Do what April told me she'd done when she was outside, and you'll be free. And don't worry, not only is this one of those vans that has a wall between here and the front seat, but that nozzle is listening to some heavy metal station on the radio, so he won't hear you."

Sam scooted back against the wall, positioned his wrists against the metal, and quickly started moving his wrists up and down. Part of him was worried about slicing his wrists open and bleeding to death, but that was a risk he was willing to take.

Finally, after three endless minutes, the tape split apart. Except for a half-inch scratch on his left wrist, he was okay. Then he scrambled over to Paula and started wrestling with her restraints. He thought for sure that would bring her around, but no such luck.

The instant he'd gotten Paula freed, the van stopped. As soon as Sam heard the driver door open, he quietly opened the back door and waited. "Come on, fatso," he whispered threateningly, his jaw clenched and eyes blazing. "Come _on..."_

"NOW!" Al shouted.

As soon as he saw the top of the guy's head, Sam flung the door open with all his strength. BAM! The door hit the guy right square in the jaw, and Sam jumped out of the back of the van like a bobcat pouncing on an unsuspecting jackrabbit. Then he saw the guy stagger back against a dead end sign, but he quickly regained his balance. Other than a reddish-purple bruise on his jaw, he hardly looked like he was hurt at all.

"Oh, a scrapper, huh?" he grinned dangerously. "I like girls who fight back."

"I have a black belt in tae kwan do, so don't push your luck, asswipe," Sam warned as he got in a fighting stance. Predictably, the attacker didn't listen, and started lumbering forward as Sam let loose with two roundhouse kicks to the head—neither of which knock-ed him down. When Sam went for a punch, he blocked it and backhanded Sam across the mouth, knocking him to the ground.

Sam's bottom lip was bloody, and his head was spinning like a top. When he stood up, he saw the guy standing over him. "You shouldn't have done that, bitch," he growled. "Now, I'm afraid I'll have to teach you a lesson." With that, he picked Sam up by the throat, held him in midair, and started squeezing. Sam kicked and scratched wildly as he fought to pry his fingers underneath those two hairy hamhocks, but it was no use.

All of a sudden, there was an ear-splitting scream of rage from behind, and the guy dropped Sam like a sack of onions.

Paula had woken up. She was on the guy's back with a thick red extension cord wrapped around his throat. Al was standing off to the side, watching and cheering him on.

"Yeah, go for it, babe!" he cheered. "Squeeze the cider out of that slimeball's Adam's apple!"

"April!" Paula yelled. Sam was instantly on his feet. He reached into the van, grabbed a 36-inch pipe wrench, and ran to the guy just as he flipped Paula over his shoulder and onto the sand. Then, just when it looked like she was done for, Sam swung the wrench. Like a Louisville slugger making contact with the ball at the bottom of the ninth, the rust-coated metal struck home right in the middle of the guy's forehead. A knuckle-sandwich to the nose later, and the guy crash-landed on his back, out like a light.

For a moment, all three of them stood there in complete silence. Even Al was at a loss for words, which didn't happen very often.

"Holy shit!" Paula finally blurted out in total shock and disbelief. "April, where the hell did you learn _that?"_

"Let's just say I learned a few things they don't teach at UCLA," Sam panted as he rubbed his sore knuckles.

"He also sparred with Chuck Norris," Al added, once he'd found his voice.

"Wow," Paula marveled. "Did you spar with Chuck Norris or something?"

"See, what'd I tell you, Ziggy? Laker Girls can hear me!" Al grinned, but the handlink gave a contradictory squeak. "Oh, yeah? Well, why don't we let Gooshie be the judge of that?"

"Let's go," Sam said, grabbing Paula's arm, as they ran across the road to call the cops.

A few minutes later, the cops had arrived—and were in the process of carrying the still-unconscious guy to the paddy wagon—which was a real chore, due to how much he weighed. It's a wonder they didn't throw their backs out in the process.

In the meantime, Paula was telling one of the detectives, Sgt. Masterson, all about how she and Sam had escaped, and how Sam had given that scumbag a beating he'd never forget. "Man, you should've seen April!" she said excitedly. "She really kicked that guy's ass!"

"You know, Miss Porter, it's not that unusual to have a sudden burst of adrenaline when you're in a potentially life-threatening situation," Masterson told her. "Miss Hathaway was just acting on instinct when she saw what needed to be done."

Sam couldn't help smiling.

As Masterson and Paula continued their conversation, Al motioned for Sam for Sam to join him by the lamppost.

"Ziggy told me to tell you good work, buddy," Al said as he started pressing buttons on the handlink. "Okay, let's see here...At the end of the season—June of '89—April and Paula decide to leave the Laker Girls behind. April moves to San Diego, meets the man who becomes her husband the following Valentine's Day, and they get married in June of '91. They have a daughter named Samantha in November of '92. Nowadays, April has her own dance studio, and is the choreographer for the high school musicals, which she's been doing since her daughter was in fourth grade."

"That's great, Al. What about Paula?"

After shaking and smacking the handlink, Al continued, "She moves to Manhattan, joins the New York City Ballet, and plays the Sugar Plum Fairy in _The Nutcracker_ the following December. She also marries a back-up dancer two years later, and their daughter, who's also named April, is born the following November. And just like her best friend and daughter's namesake, she also choreographs the high school musicals."

"Wow," Sam grinned. "What about the guy who kidnapped them?"

"Oh, you'll really like this, Sam. It turns out that he was wanted in Phoenix, San Antonio, and even as far as Boothbay Harbor, Maine. This prick did it all: sexual assault, statutory rape, child molestation, failure to register as a sex offender, you name it. Hell, even Ted Bundy would've run screaming for the hills if he ever met this guy."

"Wow."

"Mm-hm. But thanks to you and Paula testifying, he gets put away for life. And, well—let's just say that he doesn't last long in the slammer, if you get my drift."

"Uh-huh."

"You know, Sam," Al went on, a touch of despondence in his voice, "I'll really miss seeing out that there with those girls. You really do have team spirit."

"Don't remind me," Sam groaned. "Team spirit is one thing, but I sure won't miss jumping around like a drunk acrobat, and not having a clue what the hell I'm doing."

"Aw, you weren't _that_ bad."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Okay. Fine. You stunk on ice. Feel better?"

"Just as long as you don't tell Gooshie or Dr. Beeks, because I'd never hear the end of it."

"Deal," Al smiled as he waved.

That's when the blue haze surrounded him, and he was off to another adventure.

When the haze faded, Sam found himself lying on a narrow bed with rails on the sides. The first thing he heard was a man's voice saying, "Maria? I think he's coming around."

Sam looked up and saw a Hispanic couple who looked like they were in their early thirties looking down at him.

Sam turned his head to see a little mirror attached to one of the rails, and looking back at him was a Hispanic toddler with black hair, olive skin, deep brown eyes, and only had half a mouthful of teeth, which told him that the person he'd leaped into was, at the most, a year and a half old. He also noticed that he was wearing a pair of dark blue feet pajamas with a picture of Eeyore on them. _Oh, my God, I'm a baby!_ he thought in dread.

 _"Mama?"_ a little boy's voice said. From the sound of it, Sam could tell that this boy sounded like he was at least seven or eight years old. "I don't feel so good."

"Ohh, boy," Sam whimpered. Right away, he knew he was in for one hell of a long ride. As if leaping into a chimp wasn't bad enough. The only consolation—if you could call it that—was that he didn't leap into another one.

Or, God forbid, a cat.

 **THE END**


End file.
